Moonrise by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online

when her eyes could finally focus, she saw James staring down at her with a total lack of compassion. “Don’t ever sneak up on me,” he said. He held out a hand to help her up. The hand that had clamped around her neck, cutting off oxygen, that had almost killed her.
    “I thought you were the man who killed my father.”
    She expected to startle him. He showed no reaction whatsoever. “In which case, your search would be over before it even began.”
    She ignored his outstretched hand, using the wall of the house to steady herself as she struggled to her feet. “You almost killed me,” she said.
    “No. I don’t deal in almosts.”
    He was drunk. Not stinking, falling down, blindingly drunk. Just as drunk as he was the night before, with that raw edge of fury released by the liquor, simmering just beneath the otherwise emotionless surface.
    He must have read her mind. His mouth curved in a mocking smile. “Want a drink, Annie?”
    “I told you—”
    “I know what you told me. I know it’s a pile of crap. Why wouldn’t you drink?”
    “I stopped when Win died. The thought of him drinking too much, falling down those stairs …” She let it trail off with a shudder.
    “Well, then,” he said, “it seems you can repeal your vow with a clean conscience. Win didn’t die from a drunken accident, he was murdered. Have a drink.” He held out an almost empty bottle of tequila.
    “You’re drunk,” she said in disgust.
    “Just enough,” he agreed.
    “I’m getting out of here. You’re of no earthlyuse to me or anyone else. It’s no wonder they just let you go.” She started away from him, toward the steps.
    How could she have forgotten, in a matter of moments, just how strong and fast he could be? He caught her, whipping her back, and she stumbled against him. Given the amount he’d had to drink, she would have thought she’d unbalance him, but he stood firm and solid as a rock. “I told you, it’s not safe,” he said in a harsh voice.
    “And I’m safer with you? In your condition?”
    “What do you think I’m going to do, Annie? Rape you?” It was a taunt. It should have seemed absurd. But it didn’t.
    She ignored the suggestion. “You certainly aren’t in any shape to protect me from these nebulous dangers you keep trying to convince me exist.”
    “Annie, no one’s going to take you from me if I’m not willing to let you go.”
    Again that strange undercurrent in his husky, faintly Texas voice. For some reason she thought of Martin, not some faceless villain taking her away. But James hadn’t been talking about sex, had he? He’d been talking about life and death.
    “I’ve decided to go back home,” she said. “I’ll talk to Martin and maybe he can do a fewdiscreet inquiries. Just to set my mind at ease.”
    “Fine,” he said. “But you’re not going tonight.”
    She was leaning against his body, she realized suddenly. She could feel the smooth, muscled warmth of him beneath the now rumpled khaki. The heat, the steady beat of his heart. It was the steadiness of his heartbeat that convinced her. If it had been racing, she would have run, and the hell with the consequences. But he was obviously completely calm and in control despite the tequila he’d drunk.
    And then he stepped back, away from her, and she felt light-headed. He stood between her and escape, a deliberate move on his part, and tipped the contents of the bottle down his throat. And then he looked at her.
    “Go back to bed, Annie,” he said. “We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow I’m going back to Washington.”
    “Fine,” he said again. “In the meantime, why don’t you go disappear?”
    “Why?” Now that he was letting her leave, she stubbornly wanted to stay put.
    “Because, as you’ve already pointed out, I’m drunk. And I’ve been here for three months, alone. And while you’re not my type, at this point I’m willing to overlook that fact. So eithergo upstairs and keep away